


The Devil Wears Louboutins

by Fie



Series: Armor and Arrogance [2]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fie/pseuds/Fie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckGmMO0zbJo<br/>** John Milton, Paradise Lost 1.629-30<br/>*** Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus 3.2.14-25<br/>**** Chloe calls Tom a girl for saying “making love” in an earlier part of the story arc, which will be posted eventually!</p><p>Visual Aids: http://fie-upon-this-quiet-life.tumblr.com/post/41635144123/the-devil-wears-louboutins-visual-aids</p></blockquote>





	The Devil Wears Louboutins

With a crash and a curse, Chloe’s business partner, Liv, rushed into the office. “What the hell are you still doing here? You are not needed. In fact, I don’t want to see your disgustingly beautiful face in this restaurant before Monday.”

“Oh, stop it,” Chloe said, all the while making the hand motion beckoning Liv to continue. “No, but really, this inventory isn’t gonna do itself,” she huffed.

“Dude. Go buy a dress. And some ‘fuck me’ heels. Take a bubble bath. Most importantly, have some fun,” as she pulled Chloe from her chair and pushed her toward the door.

“Fine. I’m going, but don’t expect me to answer if you call me tomorrow to restock anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Feel free to bang Sherlock in my honor. The Doctor would also be perfectly acceptable. And remember: pics or it didn’t happen.”

Chloe just laughed and replied, “You are ridiculous. But I love you anyway.”

———————

Over at Benedict’s house, the party was starting to pick up steam. The sofa and chairs had been moved to make room for a dance floor, and the dining room table was groaning with the weight of all the food. Tonight was to be a chance to relax. No photographers. No directors. No managers. Just friends. And alcohol. A lot of alcohol. 

“Where’s your date? Or couldn’t you manage to find a replacement on such short notice?” Ben asked Tom as they sipped their tumblers of scotch.

“Chloe should be here any time. There was apparently a minor emergency of some sort at her restaurant.”

There was, in fact, no such emergency. Yes, Chloe was running late, but it had nothing to do with the restaurant and everything to do with her inability to choose a pair of shoes. She stopped in the restaurant to get Liv’s stamp of approval. She spun in a circle and asked, “Well? Do I pass?”

“Damn, girl. You far surpassed my shopping expectations. Between that dress and those leave-‘em-ons, you’re going to have them lining up under the mistletoe. But what exactly is going on with your hair?”

Chloe exclaimed, “Oh my God! I totally forgot about my hair! I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago; what am I going to do with it?”

“Fear not, my dear, for your fairy godmother is going to fix you right up.”

A few minutes later, Chloe gave her reflection one last check, blew herself a kiss, and walked out the door to climb into a waiting taxi. 

———————

The doorbell chimed, and Ben excused himself to greet more guests, leaving Matt to continue teasing Tom alone.

He stopped short as she stepped through the door. “Wow. Marry me?”

With a hug and a kiss on his cheek, she answered, “Maybe. Ask me again next year. How was Tokyo?”

“It was —- Is that a fork in your hair?”

She reached up to check and remembered that Liv had used a fork to hold up her hair when she couldn’t find anything else. “Ah. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Let’s just write it off as just another thing that crazy American woman did.”

He chuckled and replied, “Here I was thinking you were just making a Little Mermaid reference.” 

“Well done, sir. Let’s go with the dinglehopper story if anyone else asks.”

He sobered a bit, and with an affectionate smile, added quietly, “We don’t actually think of you like that, you know.”

She was a little taken aback by his sincerity and deflected with, “Hmm. Maybe you should. Now. What does a lady have to do to get a drink in this place?”

“Right this way, milady.”

———————

“Tom, how do you picture the devil? If it’s anything like that, I think I’d be willing to take my chances with the fire and brimstone,” Matt said, pointing across the room where Ben and Chloe stood at the bar chatting with Martin Freeman and his wife, Amanda.

“Mate, you don’t know how accurate that actually is. And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she is already spoken for this evening.”

“That’s Chloe?” When Tom just smiled and nodded, he muttered, “Lucky bastard.”

She was a vision in red leather, her dress high necked and long sleeved with a black band around the waist. She wore sky-high black Louboutin pumps, red bottoms flashing, which only drew the eye up her shapely legs. Sheer black stockings with a red seam up the back only partially concealed the tattoos on her calves, Mucha’s Byzantine Heads facing each other. Her midnight curls were pulled up haphazardly with tendrils escaping here and there. The emeralds at her ears matched her eyes. Her lips were blood lust red, and curved into a knowing smile as her eyes met Tom’s across the room. 

When they reached the bar, Tom could only gape, and stammer, “Erm. Right. You look. Um.”

Matt laughed, and said, “I think what tall, dark, and awkward is trying to say is that you look lovely,” before introducing himself.

“Chloe Thibodeaux. Nice to finally meet you.”

Amanda turned to Chloe and remarked, “I adore your shoes.”

“Aren’t they fabulous? Tom got them for me. Didn’t you, darling?” she drawled with a smirk.

Everyone looked a bit confused by her sarcastic tone. Tom just groaned and explained, “Chloe here objects to my fondness for calling people darling and penalizes me for saying it in her presence.”

“Indeed I do — £5 in general and £20 if he is referring to me. I don’t think ‘fondness’ really explains how you use it to refer to complete strangers. It’s supposed to be a term of endearment, Tom. I mean, really, if we were actually in a relationship, what could you call me? ‘Darling’ is obviously out. And ‘love’ is only slightly better.” She laughed and took a sip of her drink.

Tom looked pensive, taking a moment to consider before answering, “Mrs. Hiddleston.”

Chloe choked mid-sip. She met his eyes and quickly threw back the rest of her whiskey as a blush rose up her neck. “Well. It would appear that this darling needs another drink.” As she turned to walk away, she muttered so only he could hear, “Touché, Hiddleston.”

Seeing the expression on Tom’s face as he watched her go, Ben, Martin, and Matt exchanged a look that suggested they did not believe he and Chloe were really just friends. Matt decided to test their theory, asking “So what is up with you two, anyway? ‘Cuz if you’re just friends, d’ya mind if I have a go?” He was utterly delighted when Tom actually growled in response.

Watching her with his friends, dancing, getting caught under the mistletoe by Matt and Ben, who seemed to be making a competition of it, Tom realized there was another layer beneath the lust, something deeper and more frightening. Having her as a friend, benefits or no, was no longer enough. With a shiver, he worried that he may have to risk what he had to get what he now knew he wanted. 

———————

One sure sign of a successful house party is the inevitable migration to the kitchen. If guests, or in this case, friends, feel comfortable enough to mill about near the sink, dirty dishes and all, that speaks volumes about the party and the people present. After all, the kitchen is the heart of the home, even more so when it’s echoing with lively conversation and laughter. 

Several of them had ended up in Ben’s kitchen and stood around the island, chatting animatedly. Several conversations were taking place at once, and Chloe was more than happy to stand back and observe. This way, she could hear about the on-set hijinks from Sherlock, the latest gossip about the dwarves, a lively, and largely fruitless, interrogation about the Doctor’s new companion, and an intense debate about whether men should wear skinny pants. At times, she found herself simply listening to the various accents of the speakers and watching their expressions as they spoke. Not surprisingly, her attention kept drifting back to her date. Also not surprisingly, said date was participating in several conversations at once, verbally jumping from one to the other, never missing a beat. 

Chloe’s thoughts were also jumping from subject to subject. “Amanda and Martin are so wonderful together.” “God I love when Tom wears waistcoats. Sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone don’t hurt either. At least he didn’t wear those stupid boots.” “Matt really does remind me of a giraffe.” “I miss the beard. And the long hair. Note to self: watch The Hollow Crown again ASAP.” “Ben looks quite handsome tonight. Dark haired and not yet emaciated-looking to play Sherlock. Horse-faced, my ass.” The next thought to occur left her wide-eyed and grinning behind her drink. 

Tom was distracted from his conversational acrobatics by the sound of Chloe giggling. He looked up and saw that her cheeks were flushed from the whiskey and she appeared to be laughing at absolutely nothing. Noticing the questioning glances being directed her way, she took her phone from her clutch and pretended to answer it. She held her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Excuse me, but I need to take this,” and walked down the hall to Benedict’s office. 

When she hadn’t returned after a few minutes, Tom excused himself to go check on her. He entered the office to see her sitting in the oversized leather chair with her feet propped up on the desk, laughing at what must have been a video on her phone.

As he got closer, he heard Eddie Izzard’s voice saying, “His name changed from Gerry Dorsey to Engelbert Humperdinck. I mean, I just wanted to be in the room when they were working that one through: “Zingelbert Bembledack! Yingybert Dambleban! Zangelbert Bingledack! Wingelbert Humptyback! Slut Bunwalla!” “What?!” “All right, Kringelbert Fishtybuns! Steviebuns Bottrittrundle –” “No, Gerry Dorsey! I like Gerry Dorsey!” “No, we can’t, who we got? Zingelbert Bembledack, Tringelbert Wangledack, Slut Bunwalla, Klingybun Fistelvase, Dindlebert Zindledack, Gerry Dorsey, Engelbert Humptyback, Zengelbert Bingledack, Engelbert Humperdinck, Vingelbert Wingledanck –” “No, no, go back one!””*

Chloe was too busy shaking with laughter to hear Tom enter and practically jumped out of the chair when Tom said, “I hope you’re aware that I am morally obligated to inform Ben of this.”

“Oh! You nearly scared me to death!” she gasped. “And go right ahead. If he’s not aware of this bit, then he needs to be. It’s just too perfect. Besides, I’m sure he’ll forgive me. If worse comes to worst, I’ll just bat my eyelashes and remind him that he thinks I’m charming.”

Tom just smiled and nodded; her prediction was most likely exactly how the scene would play out.

She rose from the chair and walked around the desk to where he stood. Turning a slow circle on her stiletto heels, she asked, “Naughty enough?”

Tom replied, “How such united force of gods, how such / As stood like these, could ever know repulse?”**

With a smirk, she answered,

“Faustus, thou shalt, then kneel down presently,  
Whilst on they head I lay my hand  
And charm thee with this magic wand. …  
So, Faustus, now, for all their holiness,  
Do what thou wilt; thou shalt not be discerned.”***

She had pressed herself against him and punctuated each line with a nibble along his jaw. The last line she breathed in his ear and was answered with a deep rumble in his chest. 

Tom grabbed her by the hips and placed her on the desk, pushing her dress up around her hips, crowding between her legs and crashing his mouth to hers. With one hand buried in her hair, he traced the other over the top of her foot and up her leg. 

“Stockings and suspenders? Are you trying to kill me?,” he groaned. 

“Absolutely not. What good would you be to me then?”

She lifted her hips so he could slip her thong down her legs. Rather than toss them aside, he put them in his pocket. 

He stroked up her inner thigh, and when he reached the top, found that she was just as turned on has he was. 

“Condom?”

“No need. I’m on the pill.”

Remembering how amazing it had been even with a condom, Tom gasped, “Thank. God.”

As he entered her, he let slip a high-pitched whine; it had been far too long since he’d been inside her and it felt like heaven. 

She dug her fingers into his back, but couldn’t help but chuckle at the distinctly unmanly sound he made. 

“Did you just giggle?” he growled.

“Definitely n—”

He cut her off with a hard thrust and set a fevered pace.

With a guttural moan and an arch of her back, Chloe raced with him to the finish. 

Ben came through the office door, stopping in his tracks when he saw them, post-coital, but definitely not decent. From what he could see, Chloe’s leave-’em-on Louboutins had indeed stayed on, and Tom’s pants were around his ankles. This was not his first glimpse of a bare-assed Tom, but he certainly hoped it would be the last. Before he went back out, he hissed, “That is mahogany!” 

They collapsed in a fit of slightly intoxicated giggles.

“We’d better get back out there. But we are far from finished. Come home with me after?”

She cocked an eyebrow and replied, “And then do a walk of shame tomorrow? I don’t think so. But you are more than welcome to stay at my place.”

“Can’t wait. Now, behave,” he intoned, and gave her a swat on the ass.

They readjusted their clothing and, with one last kiss, rejoined the party, steadfastly ignoring Ben’s glare in their direction.

———————

As they danced together later in the evening, Tom contemplated his feelings for the woman in his arms. If Chloe’s plan for the evening had been to drop some jaws and break some hearts with her feminine charms, they had sure as hell worked on him. The moment he saw her walk in the room, Tom had felt a powerful blow to his chest that nearly brought him to his knees, and damn if he hadn’t taken a proper breath since. She had taken his breath away in that dress, and now she was making a run at his heart just by mocking him in front of his friends. It was a shock to realize that he loved her even, or perhaps especially, when she was being sarcastic and sassy. Burying his face in her hair, he noted that, as always, she smelled of jasmine. He would never be able to smell it without thinking of her, and in that moment, he knew he was a goner. 

He looked down at her and murmured, “I gave some more thought to what I would call you.”

She raised her head from his shoulder and responded, “Oh? And what did you come up with?”

“Graineag.”

She just raised one ebony eyebrow, beckoning him to elaborate.

“It’s Gaelic for hedgehog. Prickly little devils. But under the quills, they’ve got affectionate hearts. And occasionally love a good cuddle.” When she just blinked at him, he continued, “Prickly but lovable, just like you. In fact, it’s so appropriate that I will just have to call you that from now on, regardless of relationship status.” He held her a little tighter and purred in her ear, “My graineag.” 

Chloe’s eyes grew wide, and a flicker of uncertainty flashed over her face before she replied, “Tom, you can’t go around saying those things and looking at me like that if you want people to believe we’re just friends.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Well that’s all well and good, but what happens when one of us wants to have a real relationship with someone else? Then again, a fake break-up could be rather fun — ”

“No,” he interrupted her brainstorm. “I don’t care if they believe that we’re just friends because I no longer want to be just friends.”

Her jaw dropped and her steps faltered, but Tom kept her from falling, at least physically.

Still standing in the middle of the dance floor, he took his hand from her waist to lift her chin, and kissed her, he hoped, with all the longing and love that he wanted her to feel along with him. It was soft and sweet, but with an underlying depth of emotion that took them both by surprise. 

“Now, I know I’m running the risk of being called a girl again, but I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of tonight making love to you.”**** 

“Ahem. Right,” she muttered as she composed herself. With a soft smile and a warm look, she said, “Take me home, Tom.”

On the other side of the room, Martin turned to Matt and said, “I called it. Now pay up.” 

Ben just pouted and mumbled, “They owe me a new desk.”

In the taxi, Chloe dug through her coat pockets and handed Tom his phone. “Here. This fell out of your pants. Good thing one of us pays attention.” Even though it was her night off, she couldn’t help checking her own phone for messages from the restaurant. 

Tom huffed, “Oh, shut it. You know perfectly well —,” but was cut off when said phone blared: 

Oh! Darling, please believe me  
I’ll never do you no harm  
Believe me when I tell you  
I’ll never do you no harm

Oh! Darling, if you leave me  
I’ll never make it alone  
Believe me when I beg you  
Don’t ever leave me alone

The accompanying text read, “I never said I wouldn’t say it. Sue me. ~C”

**Author's Note:**

> * http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckGmMO0zbJo  
> ** John Milton, Paradise Lost 1.629-30  
> *** Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus 3.2.14-25  
> **** Chloe calls Tom a girl for saying “making love” in an earlier part of the story arc, which will be posted eventually!
> 
> Visual Aids: http://fie-upon-this-quiet-life.tumblr.com/post/41635144123/the-devil-wears-louboutins-visual-aids


End file.
